


Of Fire And From Ashes (ON HOLD)

by Red_Balloons



Category: The Walking Dead (TV), Z Nation (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Creep - Negan - HA - shows up early for a moment, Cussing, Gen, Immunity, Insanity, Most of these characters are teens., OOC - everyone. It's AU - should have been expected., Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Teens, They are the most understanding people in this story, Zombie Logic - freeform, Zombies, carlhasapottymouth, finallyfiguredouthowtoworkoutblockquotes, there is some humor here, whatispropertagging?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-10-06 03:00:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10324076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red_Balloons/pseuds/Red_Balloons
Summary: First, there's Mica.She's the girl who keeps to herself. She's the one people areawareof but don't really know. And when the apocalypse started, she was the girl who hid in the shadows andsurvived.Then - then there's Carl.He's the boy with the soft manners andknowingsmiles. He's the one who listened and watched. And when the apocalypse started, he was the boy whofought.





	1. Prologue I

**Author's Note:**

> Canon divergence - TWD, happened before the story begins. So people can understand, it happened around the time Hershel's farm got overrun, which is before this story begins. Z Nation's canon divergence happens the moment they are introduced into the story, which ends up as pre-series.
> 
> I also mess with the timelines of both shows (as well as ages for a few characters) but nothing too confusing. (If people do end up confused, just send me a comment and I'll make something to help everyone.)
> 
> Another thing: I take some creative incentives from a book series called Zom-B. As I won't be involving everything from that series and won't have any of its characters here, I'm not adding it to the 'fandoms' tagging up above. But as certain things in this story aren't mine (outside of, obviously, TWD and ZN), I believe I should still give credit where it is due. [It's actually easy to see what ideas I use.]

_** Prologue I ** _

_** Mica ** _

* * *

> **"You either die a hero, or you live long enough to see yourself become a villain." - Harvey Dent ( _The Dark Knight Rises_ )**

* * *

_"Promise me that you'll survive, no matter what happens to me."_

Mica sat at the base of a large tree, her eyes glaring at a pile of deadin's she'd set on fire. The flames were bringing back memories she'd rather have kept in the background of her mind. In Mica's mind, the flames spread and consumed people who weren't actually there. Mica listened to the pained and panicked screams of people who had grown up with her, who had raised her and watched her grow as the flames ate them up.

And just like when it had actually been happening, Mica did nothing. She just listened to her memories as her mind blocked out reality. It was dangerous - too many predators for anything to be safe these days - but Mica allowed it as she has for the past week. Then the memory was ending - smoke and ash swirling around her until the fire she saw were nothing more than her small campfire - and her hands were shaking, needing to scratch at her chest even though she knew it'd hurt.

Her fingers twitched. Mica took in a deep breath, nose wrinkling at the feeling of broken skin stretched, before exhaling softly. Focusing her eyes away from the faint fire, Mica took in a few deadin's stumbling about. They would glance at her, long enough to be able to tell she wasn't worth going after, before going back on their own way.

She hated that too. Right along with that horrible tightness in her chest, the fact that the cannibals wouldn't come after her made Mica feel awful. Like she was just as monstrous as them, and they left her alone because of that.

Mica's hands lifted and started scratching at the hole in her chest, fingers pushing the fabric of her shirt into the open wound. She hated this feeling worse than the pull on the edges breathing, but it calmed her.  _Because she felt it_. And Mica has learned since the beginning of this whole mess that the actual walking dead didn't  _feel_ shit.

Even if she didn't have a heartbeat anymore, at least she still had  _that_. Even if the feeling was uncomfortable. Mica sighed and shifted, so she was lying down on the uneven ground, and her eyes closed. She might not need sleep, but the darkness was welcoming.

* * *

Come morning, Mica was in a better mood. She packed up what little she'd taken out of her bag and turned around in a circle. Then turned around once more before picking a random direction. It was a bad way to travel - sometimes Mica ended up retracing her steps from earlier and ended up back in towns she'd picked clean - but Mica _preferred_ to be random.

As Mica walked, her mind grew numb, and her thoughts slowed. The topic Mica's thoughts decided to circle around was something just as bad as the death of her family. The memories rushing forward to the forefront of Mica's mind were on _dangerous_ territory. Unconsciously, her breathing stutters. The image in her mind _sharpens_ until it's consuming her field of vision, blocking out the trees and shafts of light peaking through the foliage above. Unaware of her feet stilling, forcing her to stand in the midst of trees she couldn't see.

But there were trees in her memory. They were _far away_ and held _too many_ shadows, but they were there.

Mica's attention turned away from the woods as laughter filtered in through the ringing in her ears. She focused on the source of the high pitched laughter - he was _tall, stretched_ too thin from head to feet. His grin stretched just as much as the rest of him, but it was demented - broke his face too much to be _normal_. (And, _really_ , if Mica started calling the creature before her _Joker_ , was it all that surprising?) She met his gaze, flinching away and further into the ashes behind her. His eyes were worse - nothing but pupils stared back at her, cold and uncaring.

"Did you start that fire?"

In her memory, the creature that had broken the silence was hidden in more shadows than it had actually been. Mica knew she was suppressing the memory to one horror and the next memory one of these more human-like creatures showed up in wouldn't hide the hideous appearance. But as this memory was washing over her senses, she didn't care that she wasn't  _remembering_ as she had  _seen it._

Her head answered in the negative.

"But you hadn't tried pulling anyone out."

Mica's eyes dropped to her hands - the memory was a vivid one with the feeling of ash  _caked_ and _packed_ into her pores made her twitch in reality. She hadn't tried to pull anyone out of the fire, that was true, but she had almost let herself get pulled into it.

"Shame, really. You look ready to die and yet he _has so much planned for you_." The rasping laugh that left the speaker made Mica look back up. One of his similar-looking companions, one that looked vaguely female, stepped towards her slowly, watching the too large man until he nodded. Then her steps quickened until she was standing, and then kneeling, in front of Mica. " _Such a shame_."

Mica pulled out of the memory hard and fast when the woman's hand lifted and pulled back, tense and ready to strike. Even if Mica wasn't allowing herself to remember it, that hand _had_ struck. It had struck _hard and true_ and left a scar too big to bandage. The breath that left Mica as she started walking again _reminded_ her of that all too well.

* * *

Mica skidded to a stop, eyes wide and breathing harsh.

"You okay?"

The person Mica was staring at flinched and turned towards her. His wide, icy blue eyes were  _tired_ and much like a wild animal taking in a possible threat. Mica waited - _of course_ she would after the stranger saved her life.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay. You?"

Mica snorted and motioned back behind them. "Wouldn't be alive if you hadn't helped, so I'm ecstatic right now."

The stranger shook his head, a huff of air leaving him in a poor imitation of a laugh. He fixed his hat - large and much like a stereotypical cowboy's hat - before turning back to look at Mica. "Name's Carl."

Mica bowed. "Mica."


	2. Prologue II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me twenty minutes to find Rick's quote in this chapter. Damn, IMDB needs to organise their shit.

**_ Prologue II _ **

**_ Carl_**

* * *

 

> **"I've killed people. I don't even know how many by now. But I know why they're all dead. They're dead so my family, all those people out there, can be alive. So I could be alive for them." - Rick Grimes (5.12)**

* * *

Carl sniffled as he walked, head bowed, and hands pulling his jacket tightly closed around him. The wind was coming at him from his back smelled of _ash and fire_ , forcing a shiver that wasn't _just_ from the cold to wrack down Carl's spine. With a world-weary sigh, the fifteen-year-old lifted his head and watched his surroundings. The dirt and soot on his face _itched_ at his skin, but Carl refused to do anything about it. That itch kept him _awake_ , kept him _aware of what the world is like now_.

Carl kept walking, even has his back spasmed and his legs buckled every few steps. The thought of being  _close_ to Hershel's farm was what kept him pushing onwards. And that pained Carl slightly. That farm, the one overrun with walkers and burning to the ground, had been the last place he'd seen his group. It had been the last place he'd seen his mother and his father -  _and Shane_.

Another sniffle worked its way through his nose. His eyes _burned_ with unshed tears. But Carl refused to cry, he'd been crying _a lot_ over the last few years, and he was  _done with it._

He clenched his jaw and shook his head, banishing the painful thoughts as best he could. Carl had to focus on _himself_ now. Not about Shane trying to kill his father and thus being killed by Rick and  _then again_ by Carl when he got back up. He wasn't going to think about not being there when his mother had his sibling or the fact he'll probably never get to know the name or gender of them when they're born. Carl instead focused more on  _where he was going_.

And he promised himself that if he found a place safe enough, he'll mourn the loss of his group then.

* * *

Staring through a window of an abandoned home, Carl took in the state of the inside. It looked like whoever had lived here took care of it - the wallpaper was neat, and everything looked as if dust had been scared for a few years before deeming it safe to settle. And, importantly, it looked  _untouched_. Glancing around him a few times, Carl made sure no walkers were close by - he even paused to _listen_ for any out of his sight. When nothing was found, he turned towards the window he was looking through and tried to determine how thick the glass was.

Sighing when he decided the glass was too thick to try breaking, Carl moved around the house in search of the front door. It was a solid oak door, painted dark grey to match the navy blue of the outside, but when Carl pressed against the door, the hinges came away because of rot. It made him wince and decide to not stay in this specific house for the night.

The air inside was stale as Carl stepped in and breathed.

Then he made sure his hat was on his head and started looking for things he could use.

Three hours later and Carl was leaving the house with a second bag hanging on his shoulder. Food, water, clothes - all the things he had been in desperate need of had been found in some cabinet or other. Glancing down at the open can of peaches he had found, Carl felt accomplished. And wary - having as much food and clothing as he did made him a bigger target with the living.

And the last time Carl ran into a group of living, he'd nearly lost a leg. (Crazy motherfuckers tried to _eat_ him.)

But Carl continued, eyes glancing about him as he put one foot in front of the other.

* * *

There are many things Carl can do in situations like the one he's currently in. He can submit to the guy with the barbed baseball bat for one, and those this is the least likeliest to happen, Carl knows it's an option. He could also let himself die, and it made Carl's lips twitch when he realises that this one could happen two ways, and both of them are other options he could choose. The first, Carl could simply refuse to join them and take the baseball bat in the head until he's dead and his skull is nothing but mush. The  _second_ is one that Carl's actually thinking about doing - fight until one of the basterds surrounding him gets in a lucky shot and he dies.

"So, _kid_ , whatta'ya gotta say?"

Carl met the leader's eyes steadily. He takes in this stranger ( _Negan_ , he had called himself) without much of an outward reaction. When the man's grin started showing too many teeth, Carl shrugged and shifted, so he was sitting on the ground rather than kneeling. Ignoring the pause in Negan, Carl began speaking, "Last time I was in a group, we tore ourselves apart. And then I lost them before anything could start mending." Lifting his eyes from where he'd been staring at his hands, Carl met the man's eyes once more. "Even if I've been alone nearing three months, I can already tell you that how you've described your group reminds me of all the reasons my group fell apart. I'd rather not get involved with something like that. Nothing really personal against you - just bad memories I've yet actually to _react to_."

Negan's smirk was _feral_. It was dark and disgusting and reminded Carl of Daryl's older brother _way too much_. And yet Carl wasn't affected by it. "You got _some balls_ on ya', kid," Negan said slowly, head tilting and tongue rolling over his bottom lip as if he was thinking over his next set of words. " _Right, yes_ \- we'll leave you alone. Can't help but be curious about how you'd end up. C'mon men, let's leave this kid here to live on his own like he _wants_."

Carl watched as Negan led his small group of men away from where Carl was sitting.

Would it be odd that Carl just has this  _nasty_ feeling about Negan?

* * *

Not much scares Carl anymore. Not after he shot his almost second father the same day that Carl had lost his group. But as he stared at this hunting knife, knuckles white and numb from lack of proper blood flow, Carl felt a _deep rooted fear_.

He remembers this knife - faintly, always held in its original owner's hands and  _almost always_ covered in blood.

As his breathing shudders out of his lungs, Carl could have almost sworn he had spoken.  _Daryl_ , the hunter of his lost group. It even had his name carved deeply in the handle. The shake in his hands suddenly stilled - This was  _Daryl's_ knife. That meant  _he had gotten out_ when the farm had been overrun.

Quickly, Carl looked around the house he'd found the knife.

The layers of dust were thin and disturbed in some areas, showing Carl that whoever had been here last have been part of a large group and that they had passed through not that long ago.

But the  _hope_ was there.

* * *

There were many things Carl had done that pushed him out of his comfort zone. He had waded through a large lake filled to the brim with walkers; he'd jumped from one tall building to the next in order to avoid a group of living; he'd spoke to many living people after he'd decided to avoid them. Never before had Carl believed he would jump to save a stranger - not even before the shit storm started. And yet _here he was_.

Carl met the girl's eyes and nodded towards the left, away from the shouting and the gun shots and the growling of walkers moving closer. She nodded, her breath shakily leaving her before both of them were running. She followed Carl closely, having his back and making sure nothing snuck up on him. When the sounds behind them were faint and growing weaker, the two of them skidded to a stop and looked behind them.

"You okay?"

Carl jerked and snapped his head around to look at the girl. His shoulders tensed as he took her in - all of her screamed _danger,_  all of her made Carl want to run away. But he didn't move, watching her as she watched him instead. He was slightly surprised she waited patiently for him to answer and smiled when he did. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay. You?"

The responding snort and hand motion was just a _touch_ amusing, but he just shifts away from her as she spoke. "Wouldn't be alive if you hadn't helped, so I'm ecstatic right now."

Carl silently sighed as his head shook - more out of surprised amusement,  _again_ , than for anything else. Though by the strangers look, it seemed as if something had shown his entertainment. Carl cut his eyes away from the girl to check for anything making their way towards him - because it'd be redundant to get caught  _now_ after having run as far as they had.

Fixing his hat -  _his father's hat_ \- Carl turned back to meet the stranger's dark grey eyes. "Name's Carl."

Carl's lips twitched when the girl bowed. "Mica."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note about Carl: He's fifteen. FIFTEEN! Which means he understands more than his show counterpart earlier on in the series. Like death and the zombies and how _dangerous it is to linger in his thoughts too much._ So you can't come at me saying I'm being illogical about his character.
> 
> [I love Snarled. Their channel is awesome as fuck.]
> 
> [I also feel as if Daryl would be the type of badass who carves his name in what he considers his. I mean - he's adorable and badass and I just get the feeling he didn't get anything that was _his_ before the apocalypse started. Therefore - carving his name in what he wants everyone to know is his.]


End file.
